What to Make of You
by pennypocket25
Summary: What if Mulan never left home and joined the army? Instead, her father returned from war, alive, with the company of an injured friend, General Li — and alongside his son, Captain Li Shang.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **First off, I realize Mulan's life as a soldier was an integral part of her story. And Shang's too. Their dynamic was based on mutual footing. BUTT since I'm crazy and like to daydream about "what if's," I found it realistic to drum up an alternate reality. Mulan's original story is extraordinary, but it's not one that many women, during the time, were able to receive. This is just me examining that possibility — and who Mulan might be with Shang, even if she didn't go to war. I have a soft spot for the prolonged misfit.

* * *

Every day she lit candles for her father. In their ancestors' temple, in their house, and dearest to her heart — near the blossom trees. There, she secretly prayed.

_Please guard my father, let him come home. Please, Baba. _

But the blossoms wilted. The ground littered with their pink leaves. Mulan wonders if "her" late blossom flower will be the last to fall. She tried keeping track of it; her father's loving prediction for her life. But did it matter at this point? They'd all fall and die, in the end.

These were the last true words she held with her father. Words she knew he meant in his heart — "_But look, this one's late. But I'll bet, when it blooms, it will be the most beautiful of all."_

When he left the following morning, in a rush to finish the long journey on his sore leg, he brushed hair out of her face, as he often did, and said a short goodbye. "Honor your grandmother. Your mother. Be a good daughter."

And still, when she begged, he held her close. "I will return to my home. To you."

It wasn't a promise he could likely keep. It wasn't the truth of her father, who always knew what to say to her. She curled her hand in anguish as she waved. Mulan knew his endurance in the military camp was as promising as a good match for her betrothal.

Ever since the matchmaker incident, she'd heard whispers from neighboring women. Uncouth and beautiful, the villagers called her. Two shades of the moon. Which could a husband choose? None dared when there were plenty of pretty girls in the village — those who wouldn't set their in-laws on fire.

"At least they said I'm beautiful," Mulan deadpans to her mother. As if she _cares_ what anyone thought of her appearance. But suddenly, like a weed ripped from the garden, an image of her half-white, painted-face sprang to mind. _You do care. Just not the right way._

"Mulan," Fa Li scolds, inwardly thinking that her flighty daughter needs to learn to take such matters seriously. She's seventeen now. No longer a child. Although, a soft maternal spot inside wishes her daughter could still play like once-upon-a-time. But she can't let it derail Mulan's chances of a safe and happy life. This was her motherly duty.

"It's only this round's matches. We can wait for next season's boys! Who doesn't love a younger man?" Grandma Fa cackles.

Mulan giggles — always ready to laugh along her grandmother's timing.

"And what if the matchmaker won't see her again?" Li stops sweeping, this fear overriding any meager chore.

"Who says we need the matchmaker?" Grandma says.

"Ai-yah... and we wonder where Mulan gets her lack of tradition from?"

"What lack?" Mulan stretches out her hands, standing at a loss. "I do everything the other girls do. Why am I so different?"

"My dear..."

"Mama, it's not fair! _It's not fair_." She can already feel tears brewing. This was her deepest sore spot.

"Fair is not for womenfolk. We can moan about it, or keep our heads tall. It's a choice, Mulan."

Mulan often wonders, if Mama had been able to bear other children, would she fret as much over one lowly girl? It is an honor to have your parents' critique — any attention a daughter could hold. Mulan saw this all over the village. But she never quite felt that burden in her parent's home, where they played and fished as a young girl. Where her mother still brushed her hair. She owes them the world. She owes them her honor.

"Yes, mama..." she whispers, even if it feels like a lie on her lips.

"You _need_ to be married. And now with your father..."

All three women felt Fa Zhu' s absence like a lightning storm in the sticky springtime. Not just in their love, but in their survival. The household requires a man.

"I hate this war. He should never have left!"

"It's not ladylike to complain about such things. It's none of our business."

"He's your husband... he belongs to you, to us. Not them."

"You do _all you can_ to not understand." Mama sighs and walks out. The mention of Baba's expected fate always sent her to their bedroom to cry in private.

"Do not fret, sapling." Grandma pats her cheek. "Our ancestors will take care of you."

But Mulan hoped they were busy elsewhere — like bringing home her Father, instead of a husband.

"And if not, I have this cricket!"

* * *

Fa Zhou recognizes the mountain's bypass. Lush and prosperous, just as he expected to find his household. "We're very close now," he comforts the anxious young man next to him.

"Then you were right to bring us here instead of the Miu Gorge," Shang says, and bows his head. He had been rather indignant with the legendary soldier. But no matter the honor he bestowed upon the man, his father's well-being was the most important thing.

"Do not let the Captain boss you around, Zhou. He's just a boy after all."

The men laugh in surprise, happy to hear the voice from behind, and dismount from their horses to check the open wagon where General Li was laying.

"I do not think a _boy_ could lead a brigade as well as young Shang did," Zhou says, squatting near the frail man. "But it is good to hear your voice again. You've been asleep since yesterday."

"My stomach..." he groans.

"The healer said you will survive, father." Although, Shang knows the healer didn't _actually_ say that. And he was only a mountain man, how much could he really know? But he _believes_ it. Shang touches the general's arm, earnestly, before dropping it in embarrassment.

"You just need to rest awhile."

"My home was the nearest village and they have many good healers, just in case," Fa Zhou explains.

"So, after all this time I endured listening to you moan about missing home, you bring _me_ back as trinket of war? Perhaps, your wife would rather a new sword to mantle the family wall?"

"It will be my honor to have you as my guest."

"How did you end up unscathed and I, the great General, am in a wagon?" he rasps.

"I think I owe that to you, my friend."

"Ah." The general weakly waves off the sincerity. "War heroes with canes do not deserve the front lines."

"Just young men, like your son here?"

"Heh..." he coughs. "He did pretty well, did he not?"

Shang lowers his reddened face — in satisfaction as well as discomfort. He's accustomed to his father talking about him like he was a spectacle, rather than another person in the room. Perhaps all sons felt that way. It's a good sign anyway, maybe he's not fatally injured, if his father is talking and jesting rather normally.

"Let's get a move on, eh?" The General asks. "The sun is hot." His forehead is sweating profusely, just like the rest of his grey and broken body.

When the war finally ended, Shang wasn't expecting to worry over an arrow wound in his father's abdomen. In all his years of combat, the general always came out unscathed. No matter what.

And things _were_ looking so good. Their bloody battles conquered; the Huns outnumbered by the sheer size of China's forces. He'd just recently reunited with his father at the emperor's gates.

But when they returned to a Wu Zhong military camp, miles and miles inland, to dole out the remaining orders for the infantrymen, a scout of deserted Huns shot a round of arrows at their group. Most hit the horses. He doesn't think he'll ever get over that part; listening to an innocent animal who was only doing their master's binding, die so painfully. They always sound terribly confused.

Then, he turned and saw his father on the ground... Luckily a healer was only a day's journey away. And Fa Zhou, who had more battlefield injury experience than the younger combatants. He was the one who suggested scalding the skin to stop the wretched bleeding…

He remembers his first day as captain in the training camp, watching his father grasp the legendary man's shoulders, before departing together — _"This man will come with us, we could use his wisdom! The emperor's forces need wise old men…"_

Like always, his father was frustratingly right.

Shang thought they'd be spending their return trip home, talking and recounting battle stories — as he'd imagined since childhood. This had finally been their chance. Now, he just prays he'll survive.

He barely wants to consider what the future will look like if he does die, though practicality nags at his head. He has no other family. Shang presumes he'd simply return to the army as was always the plan, anyhow. A soldier's onward march.

But, in the meantime, what's he to do in this sheltered village, aside from caring for his injured father? He's spent his entire life between military camps and the Imperial city. Shang was always uncomfortable around strangers, when there wasn't something like martial arts or soldier's rational to discuss.

What should be the greatest moment of his life, ascending from war alongside the accomplished General, turned into a murky stream of water; entirely unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Also sorry, this isn't going to be really pretty prose, or whatever. I'm more concentrating on scenario writing. Just trying to get this 'what if' business out of my system lol.

* * *

Despite the small village, Shang thought the Fa Household was beautiful. It's nice to be in grasslands that didn't have tents, but actual homes. Their property went far back, beyond the modest house. There were many pathways, and arched bridges, some leading to water. Statutes and blossom trees all around. He expected to see many family members roaming about, maybe even servants. But there were only two older women; both earnestly waiting when their horses finally stop trotting.

Shang helps his father to his feet, while discreetly giving Fa Zhou space to reunite with his wife. No one wants to see a woman cry.

"Augh," the general suddenly hisses. "My ankle."

A pang of fear shoots through Shang; they've only really monitored his abdomen. He unrolls his father's pants, and sees no immediate wound, but instead a swollen ankle; red and angry.

"Just a sprain." _Probably more like a broken ankle. _Undoubtedly caused when he fell from his horse, with an arrow in his gut. But he doesn't want to worry the general even further. "Lean on me."

As his father limps alongside his arm, he caught some of the Fa's whispers — "Where is she?" "...Sent for chores, she'll return shortly."

The general was growing out of breath. But still, ever the diplomat, Shang exchanges polite pleasantries with their hosts before being directed around the back of the house, passing chickens, and into a pantry room where a yappy dog barked.

"Well, where should we get started? Re-bandage?" Zhou optimistically states. "I know you're eager to get _some more_ rest."

The general coughs. "Don't tease an ailing man."

"We have another issue." Shang points to the ankle.

But despite this new worry, as Zhou assesses his father, Shang finally starts to feel a shred of relief. They've made it. Maybe his father would be alright. Once he is properly settled, the Fa household can help care for his ailments. And call upon a healer to gauge the wound and set his twisted ankle. There were spices and herbs all lined in this room. Everything looks prosperous.

And admittedly shameful, he's also hoping for some rest, if possible. For months, every day has been a long ordeal. Training, battling, declaring victory with the Emperor over the disintegration of Shan Yu's army, and _now_ worrying over his father's chances of survival. Shang shakes his head, tossing any anxiety to the side — there wasn't any time for that.

But suddenly, there was a creak at the door.

Mulan opens the door with her hip, balancing the pails of water. Her mother always scolded her to take one at a time, but this was faster, she'd argue.

Shang notices the girl first. Short and slight, like a hopping bird. She stops dead in her tracks. Shiny hair hanging in her face. She didn't slink back out the door, like he expected of a woman who made an uninitiated introduction — they were two strange men after all. Her mouth parts, wide open.

"Uh," he awkwardly alerts Fa Zhou.

The man's concentrated expression suddenly falls. "Oh Mulan..." And Mulan, herself, thought his voice sounds as raspy as ever. It sounds like music.

Shang watches, in astonishment, as the girl immediately drops the buckets, spilling a mess over the floor, and runs into Zhou' s arms. She jumps with the enthusiasm of a mountain sheep, butting it's horns.

"_Baba_..."

They hold each other longer than he had ever shook his father's hand. He scarcely knows where to look, and tightens his grip on the general's arm. Meanwhile, his father simply seems slightly amused — he always did have a better sense of humor than him.

Zhou finally looks up at the two men. "Mulan you put us to shame," he laughs. He untangles from her, but she clings to his arm. "Please excuse our rudeness." Though he doesn't sound like he regrets it all.

"Peh, I think all women should greet a man, coming home from war, in such a way. Shang, take notes."

He'd rather stomp on his father's foot. He looks away in embarrassment.

"This is the great General Li and his son, captain Li Shang. All of China owes them their respect." He grandly gestures towards the men. "And allow me to present my only child, Fa Mulan."

Mulan keeps her head bowed. Obviously, they were very important men. Even if they were dusty with travel, they wore colorful military garments, different than her father's common armor. This wasn't exactly like standing with her father and mother in their local fish-market, where she could string a sentence along to the fishery boys, if it called for it. Like when they claimed their counter was out of pufferfish, but she snuck around back and saw they still held plenty for dinner.

But she didn't know what to say to this hefty pair. She looks up, in uncertainty, at her father.

"All is well Mulan, you are among my friends. We'll be honored to host them for the time being."

Mulan swallows her tongue, and gave another head bow. "Thank you for bringing my father home."

"Our pleasure, child. Your father has been of great help to China," the general says graciously, his voice still rather hoarse. He looks expectantly at his son, as if to say 'if I can do it, so can you.'

"Oh..." Shang mumbles._ When was the last time he talked to a girl?_ "All soldiers are valued by the Emperor."

Besides him, he could feel his father's shake his head.

"If you would excuse me for a short moment." Fa Zhou leads his daughter away.

But before they turn, Shang catches a look in the girl's eyes that he's never seen before — it's as if she's watching fireworks, though all she's doing is staring up at her father. He hasn't witnessed such unbridled affection so publicly displayed. That was only supposed to exist behind closed doors. Apparently. He never really knew.

"She's pretty." His father eyes him, then coughs deeply and groans. It was no secret he wants grandchildren, while he was still living.

But Shang looks over at the watery buckets, forgotten on the floor. And raises his eyes dryly in his father's direction.

* * *

Whatever ancestors were out there, sometimes Mulan thought they might hate her. Her grandma always laughs loudly when she proposes the idea.

"They don't hate you, they probably just think you're a troublemaker." Grandma sounds even cheerier, now that her son returned.

"Me?" Mulan feigns surprise.

"Don't give me that." Grandma sasses, and then puts on a thoughtful look. "Go and see if the healer needs anything else for the General." Grandma gives her strips of cloth to take with her.

But now that her father was home, with not one limp more than before, she felt slightly guilty for thinking such things about the ancestors — they guarded their family well. Here, father and mother sat together once more. Maybe the ancestors just didn't have any immediate plans to secure her as a prim wife, but Mulan isn't sure she regrets that. She'd only make a mess of any silly husband.

Her father and mother were more than enough. If she couldn't bring them honor with marriage, she'd just work extra hard to care for them as they grow old. What comes after that life, who knows. Maybe she could live in the forest like an old tale, Mulan laughs to herself.

She rounds the hall as the Yi healer appears, but he's with the young man called Li Shang. Mulan gasps and hides behind the arched entryway. Why? She's not certain. Perhaps, she ought to deliver the extra bandages in hand, bow properly, and immediately leave.

But something gave her pause. She knew the Yi Healer well; her Father was often given massages to aide his wounded leg and hip. But the General's son is a presence she suddenly feels guilty lingering in. Here she was reveling in her father's good health, and here he was… with a face she instantly recognizes.

Despair. Worry.

She eavesdrops, of course, like the day soldiers came to the village to announce war and hand out conscription notices to necessary recruits. She watched wide eyed from the roof-top as her family's name was called. Her father proudly limped forward — _"The Fa family!" __**No**._

"He must not be moved," the Yi healer explains. "There is a high chance of festering and infection."

"What else can we do?" Shang fidgets his hands.

"Nothing we can do but wait and see how he responds to the dressings. And pray that the arrow did not pierce anything important — we shouldn't open him up, at least not yet. Not with that burn."

"Was it a mistake?" Shang paled. "Should it not have been done?"

Mulan's heart drops for him. His dread was too familiar — "_You shouldn't have to go! There are plenty of young men to fight for China!"_

"No, he surely would have bled to death. I'll come back first thing tomorrow to check his progress." She hears footsteps moving farther away.

Letting out a breath of air, she turns to deliver the bandages to the general's doorway. When, suddenly, Shang appears through the hall at the same time. She jumps back as he filled the entryway, not wanting to inappropriately crowd his presence.

"Oh," he falters, and leans away.

"Please excuse my interruption!" Mulan immediately knows she's talking too fast, but can't help herself. "I've been instructed to ask if anything else is needed for the General."

He's pink in the face — probably from confusion over her nonsense babbling, after just hearing vital news about his father.

"Uh..."

Well, he certainty wasn't a man of many words. But Mulan thought his voice sounds restrained, as if he's holding in a cough. It makes her feel like she was fishing in the stream, waiting for the line to tug.

Or maybe, he didn't take kindly to women talking so openly in his presence. She remembers the cruel councilman who yelled at her — _"You will do well to teach your daughter to hold her tongue in a man's presence."_

Why could she never fully obey the rules?

"Here are more bandages, my father and mother pray all will be well," she speaks to her feet. "If anything else is needed, please-do-not-hesitate-to-call-upon-us." She drops the cloth into his hands, careful not to touch him directly, and then flees down the hall.

She could practically feel the odd look he must have given her, from all the way into the next room.


	3. Chapter 3

Shang spent the first three days fully immersed in his father's wellbeing. He changed his chamber pot, talked in a gentle voice, and watched from afar as he slept. All the general seemed to do is sleep. More and more each day. The Yi healer said it potentially could be a good sign, as the body was trying to heal itself.

But he wasn't too sure. It mostly feels like he's getting used to him never waking up. And though he was a grown man, as he often insisted to his father's humor, in his twenty-one-years he'd never been more afraid. This was a greater fear than cutting the throats of Hun men, a number he almost feels ashamed to count. Greater than worrying he'd die as another nameless body in battle. Here was his _father_. His namesake. He didn't know a world that didn't have the general in it.

When Fa Zhou asks him to sit for tea, he hesitated. His father might be awake soon, but his host firmly insisted.

Now, they sit around a square and quiet table. Zhou clears his throat. "Aside from Yi, your father will be greatly aided by my wife and mother. They are great caretakers."

"That is appreciated, but I'd also like — "

"You can't waste away along with him. He'd never forgive me if I'd let you."

Shang sighs. "What will you have me do?"

"Nothing but what an honored guest deserves." Zhou inwardly laughs at how much of a solider the man could truly be. "Spend time in the grounds. We are a horse-village, take one of the stallions and find some peace and quiet in the beautiful hills."

"I must be near my father."

"Not every moment of the day."

"I cannot miss it, if he… if he does…" Shang stops. Not quite sure how to say it _out loud_.

"There will always be someone watching your father. Nothing will be missed. You have just been in battle after battle. I don't think it's wise barricading oneself in one room, day and night."

"What do you mean?" Shang can't bother to hide the confused tone that slips out.

He wasn't even thinking about war. Well, not really. Dreams, or nightmares, were par for the course. And even in the quietness of his father's room, he wasn't surprised to remember some bloody moments; thinking about what he could have done differently. Faces. It was in his nature, that's all.

"Believe me, son," Zhou starts warmly, noticing Shang's face drop at the word. "I have seen many men fall _after_ the battle is over. You must take care of yourself as well."

Shang nods his head obediently, even if he didn't fully understand.

"So, it is settled. Tonight, you will share our dinner table."

"Thank you…" He didn't know what else to say.

"And tomorrow morning, you shall accompany me on some business."

"Your business?"

"Yes, we outsource horses and cattle to neighboring villages. Assist farmers or fisherman with their trades. We're an outpost, you see. More money in that." He knew Shang understood little of village life.

"You never wanted to stay in the city… after your own war?" Shang finally felt bold enough to branch out and ask his host. The honorable Fa Zhou was a legend many young soldiers grew up on — he could have held a spot strategizing for the Emperor's personal army.

"No, my place was always here. Much better to raise a daughter in the country."

Shang eyebrows rose. Many would argue that was untrue. A girl's worth was determined by who she married, and there were many more… eligible suitors in the city. Immediately, he felt silly for thinking such a thing; like he was a cunning matchmaker, instead of a soldier.

"Mulan in the Imperial city." Zhou laughs to himself, sharing a joke Shang didn't think he was supposed to know.

But, as awkward as it was to admit, even internally, he could feel himself smiling with the joke. The quick-paced girl, with all dangly hair, would definitely stand out amongst the city women, who were poised and gentle as a lotus. Shang could hardly look at them, whenever those scarce opportunities arose. In their perfect gowns, fans clouding their hidden painted faces. Didn't he just arrive from the dirt roads of training? How did his father expect him to interact with irritating matchmakers and such? When all he knew was mud and steel.

"Speaking of…" Zhou sighs. "I should probably warn you about my daughter… if you're to be around during the day."

"Fa Mulan?" he asks, respectfully. Warned? Of a woman?

"Yes, you see my daughter is very… precocious. She has many ideas that do _help_ the household, but also may cause some alarm, if not yet familiarized."

"Ideas?"

"For chores, mostly." Zhou smiles.

"And you…" He struggles for words that weren't disrespectful in the man's own home.

"Yes, I allow it."

"Oh." Shang sat for a moment, assessing this unfamiliarity. Well, he wasn't very well acquainted with the ways of women, anyway. His mother died many years ago. Sometimes he remembered her round and smiling face, or a jolly laugh.

Why should one girl bother him?

"That is fine with me," he responds, and quickly realizes he truly meant it.

_How strange._

* * *

Preparing dinner went on as usual. Mulan felt hot and stuffy next to the pot. It was down-pouring, with speckles of rain pitter-pattering against the window. Humid air creeps in and makes the kitchen even hotter. She'd rather be drawing in her room, wearing breezy shorts, instead of this three-piece-dress she was required to wear for dinner.

"Do not let it boil over!" Mama warns.

"I won't, I won't."

"Distracted, are you?" croons Grandma.

"Why _should_ I be distracted?" she hums, not indulging her grandmother's obvious prodding.

"Mulan is always distracted." Mama laughs kindly, but loving the idea, decides to pull out her tried-and-true, motherly dose of reverse-psychology. "One new man in the house won't change that, right?"

"You two think you can tease me, but it won't work."

"I told you we didn't need that old matchmaker!" Grandma cheers.

"Grandma," she groans, already irritated by the ridiculous coupling. "Stop."

"So tall!"

"Enough."

"A war-hero for a family of war-heroes! Imagine the children."

"I'm going to add that cricket into his bowl, if you don't stop."

"Mulan!" Mama scolds, halfway scandalized. "Do not say such things."

"I'd never…" she relents. Anyway, she'd never do that to anyone who looked so sad.

"How funny you'd mention the lucky cricket," says Grandma, and produces the caged and chirping insect. "In a time like this, when such a man is at our doorsteps."

"I don't want to marry any soldier, or even worse a captain! I'd have to move to the Imperial City, or wherever else he drags his horse."

"Every woman leaves home. You'd visit us with your children. Think of bringing them to light lanterns at the end of the Spring Festival!"

But Mulan could hardly imagine being _away_ from home during the start of the New Year. What a horrid thought.

"Come, come it's almost time."

Dinner began as usual too, but with one extra serving-spot. The men talk quietly from across one another, both sitting at the heads of the table, as Mulan pours tea for everyone; her daily job as the youngest woman.

When she reaches Shang, she focuses hard on not spilling, which sometimes only worsened things for her, and tries not to smack her forehead when the tea almost reaches the top of his cup. His mouth was straight-laced and unrevealing. But his eyes dart back and forth, nervously, between her and the cup.

"Captain," Grandma began, using her privilege as the eldest. "Did you enjoy the dinner?"

"Yes." Shang inclines his head. "It's nice to sit with a home-made meal for once."

"Not to undersell the military's fine cooking…" Zhou jests.

This time, Shang smiles without any hesitation, seeing why his father likes this man so much.

Grandma nods, approvingly. "Then you may thank Mulan for tonight's dinner."

Mulan wishes she put the cricket in her bowl instead.

He slowly turns in her direction. "Thank you." There's a quiet pause that lasts too long for her taste. She looks back up.

"Mulan," Zhou sighs mournfully. _Oops_, she knew this was her father's biggest pet-peeve.

She hesitates, and then bows quickly in Shang's direction, not wanting to give Mama or Grandma any excuse to further their teasing. "My honor to do so."

And also, maybe it was difficult to look at his face, as if he was a granite statue of uncomfortableness. Like a stern gargoyle they'd place in their garden. Maybe more like a sorrowful one... Anyway, why should she swoon over a a compliment that was dragged out of someone? _When was the last time someone, other than her family, complimented her? _

She returns to her chopsticks, to squash the annoying feeling in her throat with fluffy rice, steamed bean curd, and cucumbers. She pours herself extra soy sauce. It _was_ a good dinner. And in return, he raises one eyebrow, like she was the strangest person he'd ever met. But to his credit — Mulan knew she probably was.


	4. Chapter 4

Fa Zhou wasn't kidding when he warned about his daughter's unusual morning routine. The first thing Shang sees, after the bright morning sky, is a gaggle of chickens chasing a dog. He cautiously steps over the trail of grain.

Mulan was in the distance; feeding the horses in the stable. Ever since a boy, he always loved horses. They were wild and steady all-at-once. A strange paradox. And for a bizarre moment, he had a desire to go and help her.

"Shang, I'm pleased to see you out in the sunlight. I was beginning to think you were turning into a bat." Zhou leads him toward the stables, where Mulan was not quite finished.

"How are the horses, today?" Zhou asks.

"Eager to get out," she sighs, almost jealously.

Shang brushes his own steed's mane. He'd been neglecting him, for his father of course. But still... he felt a stab of guilt. He's been paired with the faithful creature for years.

"He's been happy with Khan, no nipping or anything," she quietly states, patting Khan. The two male horses, one black and one white, both had haughty personalities.

"Good." He side-eyes her black horse, and then glances one quick look at her. She sort of reminds him of a mare. Coltish and quick… maybe pretty… and…

"Let's go," Zhou announces. Mulan takes his cane, as she helps him mount the horse. She attaches the cane to the saddle. Mulan opens the gates for them, dutifully, but then crosses her arms as she watches them go. She looked rather irritated.

Zhou shakes his head. "Please ignore my daughter's rudeness. She usually is the one to help me."

"You take your daughter on business calls?"

"She waits outside with the horses. One makes do without a son."

Shang is unsure of what to say. And he's uncertain if he should feel insulted that his current position could also be filled by a woman. Yet, as usual on this strange trip, he doesn't seem to mind. But somehow, it feels as though every corner of his arrival has been coated in a 'Mulan explanation.' The strange girl was an unending river of curiosities. Well, if one could call unusual antics a curiosity…

The day goes by quickly. Which is a relief, considering how long the past few days have lingered.

The villagers are an interesting bunch of folks. Some are quiet and respectful. Other men are loud and cackling, shooting off questions for the pair — "My son just returned too, but he didn't bring home another man!" Their surrounding friends laugh and clap each other's backs. Shang has enough integrity to not jump off his horse, and confront their clownery directed at his host's expense.

Instead, he uses military training to redirect their vulgarity — "Perhaps, you should ask your son yourself. There are still other soldiers being sent home."

It was a common technique utilized by high-ranks against those who mocked their authority. He used it when a surly soldier named Yao called him 'pretty boy,' and thus, he made a spectacle of him by casting him as the first volunteer, to retrieve an arrow from a very tall post.

And it works. The group of rowdy men groan, and shake their fists before departing. Zou looks proudly over at the tactful young man, admiring his even temper. For a moment, he wishes Shang and the General where here under different circumstances. _Oh well, _the older man contemplates.

Shang hasn't seen such a balance of people in a while. For so long, there's been only a chain-of-command in sight. It's relaxing to be outside of the box for once, if not a little unnerving. But he sees that he's still able to function without a place to stand in the army. It's a comforting thought.

On their way home, Shang wasn't surprised to see Mulan standing outside one of the houses. She just appears everywhere, doesn't she? Like the wind or the rain.

"And what is this flower doing, wilting in the sunshine?" Zhou smiles down at his daughter. He knows she never cared about tanning in the sun. Not like many other village girls her age who carried umbrellas.

"The healer is visiting again, so Grandma decided it was a good time to call on the acupuncturist. Her poor knees. I'm walking her back." Her grandmother no longer could comfortably use a horse.

"My leg needs a stretch." Zhou sidles down from the horse, as Mulan rushes to help him. "I'll walk her back."

Both Mulan and Shang wait in stunned silence.

"Baba…"

"Shang will escort you home, right?" He looks up at the other man.

Automatically responding to the command, like it was born in him, _because it sort of was_, Shang nods his head. "Of course."

So, Mulan mounts Khan, and the horse whinnies happily to have the lighter girl on his back. They've always been good friends.

Their trot home was more awkward than other moment Shang could remember in his life. Both said nothing — like they shared the common language of the equally disinterested. Although Shang hates to admit, he isn't particularly against knowing more of her, because one cannot knowingly call complete bewilderment over a person 'disinterest.' He decides it must be his interest in storytelling. He simply likes knowing how things end.

He assesses the villagers faces as they clearly watch the pair of them. There was a group of girls that look around Mulan's age (_wait, what was her exact age?)_ who seem to be giggling in her direction. Or at both of them. It's hard to gauge.

But Mulan keeps her eyes and shoulders down, like she wishes to disappear. She seems so different from the girl who boldly jumped into her father's arms without a second thought. The difference seems night and day to him, and there was disappointing feeling that came with it, as if watching the sun-set and darkness suddenly alarms you.

He supposes it's not surprising how the fellow villagers might find her… rather unusual as well. Perhaps, it was because of her unconventional upbringing. A doting father. A home that didn't begrudge her peculiar antics.

Then, suddenly without thinking much about it, Shang evaluates the young men in the village. They didn't seem _that_ impressive. But he wonders which one of them will be matched with her? It's an interesting thought to indulge, only because she's so different. It would make for a good folk story — the wayward, clumsy girl marrying a serious fisherman of some sort. But, perhaps, acting more as a warning story that mothers would tell their daughters, Shang sadly realizes.

He feels an odd pang of sympathy for this girl.

And then, immediately feels foolish for himself — getting wrapped up in pointless domestic antics. Is this what life looks like on the other side of the battlefield? He went from worrying over his soldier's rice rations, to wondering how one girl might be treated by her village? Perhaps, his mind was seeking a distraction from his father, whose health was no better this morning.

When they reach the stables, and dismount, his father is the only excuse he could muster in order to slink away from this girl's strange orbit — pulling unusual thoughts from his head.

"I must tend to my father now." He bows awkwardly, before realizing she was already on her way out.

But for the first time, she stops and fully gazes at his face directly — her eyes growing very soft, like smudged ink. He even feels the inspiration to go write a letter. To who? He has no idea. But it wouldn't be a bad way to pass the time.

* * *

Mulan sat on the railing of the family's arched bridge, swinging her legs. She wishes she could still swim at a moment's notice, like she did as a little girl.

The house felt too heavy to stay put in. Li Shang's father has gotten worse. He spent the rest of the afternoon hidden in the general's room with the healer. She and Mama gathered supplies and delivered them outside their door.

How could this day get any worse?

She's sure the Wu sisters will tell other daughters about her stroll with Shang. They marched through the village like a spectacle, which is the _last thing_ she needs. She'll have to hear about it in their respective weaving circles. As if she wasn't already bad enough at weaving!

Then, they'll tease her even more when Shang inevitably departs from their home.

_Ai-yah! You fool, _Mulan scolds herself for the lack of empathy. Shang will leave once his father…

The poor boy.

It seems funny to think of him as a boy, the large and battle-worn man. But it's how he looks whenever she spies on that wing of the house, as he goes to and from his father's room. A little hopeful. A little lost. Mulan appreciates his duality. Whenever she's upset, she feels it full force; unable to juggle multiple feelings on her sleeve. Similar to when her father left for war, limping out the door — she saw no honor or glory, only despair. Shang wears his worry and honor like two crests.

Her mother always said she could only be one season at a time. Perhaps, that's why she's so bad at traditions. They called for so many shades. "Be calm, be obedient, be fast-paced." But what if one attribute was at a cost of another? Like the time her uncle visited and Little Brother fled the yard, and she ran inside and screamed to her parents before their dog got away. He was only a puppy then. She was _fast-paced_ but not so _calm_. Mama's older brother had scolded her parents, wagging a finger about how she wasn't a good example for the family.

It seems like she'd always sink like a stone.

Speaking of stones… Mulan pulls out a handful of small, flat pebbles from her pocket. She hops up, and stands on the bridge's railing, balancing herself with ease, then skillfully flung the skipping stones. Why couldn't this be something that impressed the matchmaker?

She began to walk along the bridge, happy to see her feet moving gracefully at least in one area, and —

"Get down!"

There's a great shout from behind, and she feels something brush at her elbow, startling her, and she turns quickly, but her foot slips backwards, and —

_SPLASH._

Mulan quickly surfaces in the water, whipping long hair out of her face. "Hey!" she automatically yells. _Well, I did want to go for a swim but this is ridiculous, _she thinks.

She swims to the edge of the grass, where Shang emerges, looking guilty and annoyed all at once. Again, with duality. _Ai-yah_.

"Are you hurt?" He reaches for her hand. Any shyness he held for the past few days seemingly melted away with the possible danger.

"No."

"You could have killed yourself, why were you up there?"

"Thank you, but I was fine." She holds her tongue — _until you made me fall._

"You fell _off_ a bridge."

"It wasn't very tall and the water is deep." She squints her eyes.

He sighs, mostly to himself, and looks away.

Mulan shrugs her top dress closer onto her shoulders, feeling awkward. _As you should, this should feel worse than throwing scalding tea on the matchmaker!_

"Don't go up there again," he said, bossily.

"I do it all the time," she says, unable to stop herself as irritation brews in her chest. "I never fall."

"You just did."

"You startled me."

"Well, if you're easily startled then don't climb high things." He sounds grumpy.

A heavy wave of indignation washes over her. She can't act as she pleases in her own home, even in private? Can she ever be herself, anywhere?

"You're _not_ the boss of me."

Both stand stunned in silence.

With his mouth hanging open, Shang feels a sense of dutiful anger, because _technically_ he is the boss of her — almost similar to how a captain should feel when one of his soldiers disobeys. But he is not her captain. _How does he fix this?_

"I may not be, but your father wouldn't want to hear of this." He waves a hand to the dumb bridge — bringer of all this… whatever one called this unpleasantness.

"He wouldn't be surprised."

"Then perhaps, he'd be displeased to hear how you've spoken to me."

Mulan shuts her mouth, like a hooked fish. Baba would be furious. How could she shame him so soon after he got back?

Meanwhile, Shang could practically feel the General smacking his forehead in disappointment. How many times, growing up, did he have to hear about his father's charms with women? He could already hear the echo of his threat — so misplaced. It didn't sound right at all, not like how he thought it would come off. He just threatened to _tell on_ her, like they were young children, squabbling over a game. For all his years of training on authority and technique, none of it was working now. Maybe he's completely in the wrong… maybe he didn't suit village life at all…

"That is… I don't mean to..."

"Forgive my interruption. I'll let the Captain return to his walk." Mulan swiftly bows, and flees from the pond. She had to escape, before she let anger overthrow her tongue. This was already too embarrassing to face. She'd only make it worse by staying any longer.

And as Shang watched the girl half-run away, holding her wet dress by the hem, in that moment he can't help but pray the General heals quicker for selfish reasons. So, they could leave this strange place, where he had no clue what he's doing.

* * *

**Please leave a review to let me know what ya think! :D **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: They silly. **

* * *

Mulan flung the bed covers like a busy owl, her wings wide and fluttery. There's much more laundry to be done with their guests. She makes up for it by working faster. Rigorously dunking blankets, linen, and cloths in the wash bins.

She always plays a game in her head while doing the laundry. Today, she pretends she's on a ship (although in reality had never stepped foot on a vessel, but Baba explained it in great detail), and imagines she's hauling fish from the sea. Soapy suds become ocean bubbles. And the fish are brighter than any pond catch she's seen.

That's something she's _actually_ enjoys — fishing. Of course, only with a simple rod. She doesn't know about netting and hauling, but over the years she's watched the villagers do their work. Girls her age weren't supposed to fish anymore, but she still sneaks out occasionally and fishes in the valley creeks. Baba often joining her, and pretending as if he didn't know what she'd been up to all along.

_I wonder when we will go again… _Mulan thinks to herself.

Her father has been constantly busy; returning home, getting back to his business, reassuring Mama, and of course the most time consuming — his new friends. Baba seems to have no time limit when it comes to Shang and the General. When she reaches Shang's red cape in the wash, she throws it into the water, hard, and angrily folds her arms.

Shang has been accompanying Baba's business trips. She was only a little jealous at first, watching them ride off together. She'd always been the one to gather the horses for her father. But ever since the incident on the bridge, she's feels sour whenever she sees the young man. All she wants is to be safely settled in her parent's good opinion, even if that is occasionally a tiresome task.

Shang threatened to risk her father's disappointment in her behavior. But she didn't actually _yell_ at him… she only argued. _And then told a grown man he wasn't the boss of her. _

"_Ai-yah,"_ Mulan groans, thinking of the humiliating moment. "What am I to do?"

But to his credit, and her surprise, Shang has not said anything to Baba.

Maybe he's too preoccupied with his own father, who isn't even eating anymore. The bowls of food are returned right at their door, and when she comes to pick them up, she feels a sadness all around the room. It makes it difficult for her to hold anger inside when she passes by.

He still talks with Baba — who sits with them in their sad room. He has plenty of opportunities to tell her father the shameful things she said on the bridge.

But for some reason, after the initial surprise settles, she has a feeling he won't reveal her. Even if seeing him was uncomfortable and drove her to anger, as it serves a reminder of her possible failure, she senses a quietness about him. One that doesn't feel caused by his father's injury, but born much earlier.

She's witnessed men shame women before — eager to cause them misery. Shang doesn't seem eager at all. He seems like he wants to hide from it. Every time they've since interacted, he's red faced with downturned eyes. She suspects she won't stay mad for too much longer…

"Have you finished?" She hears Mama call, interrupting her thoughts.

"Washed and ready," Mulan deadpans, and waves to the extra loads of laundry hanging to dry. "We should start our own business."

Mama rolls her eyes. "When I was a girl, I had three brothers, my parents, and a grandmother and _grandfather_ to wash for. You should count yourself lucky."

Instead, she ducks and rubs Little Brother's belly, who follows her mother everywhere. "Why do you love Mama so much, when I'm the one who plays with you."

"You don't play with him enough, you use him as cattle. _He's a dog_, let him guard like he's supposed to."

"Well, he's a lucky dog to do so, just like I'm lucky." Mulan smiles as her Mama laughs.

She wipes her eyes. "You _are_ fresh mouthed."

Mulan shrugs happily. "You're one and only."

"Yes." Mama reaches out and gently touches her chin. "My one."

It's so nice to see her mother laugh and be a little carefree. She's been so busy lately.

"Now, come. Let's deliver some tea to the general."

As they walk to their room, they both knew the tea will be left untouched. But it was their duty to keep trying. They reach the hall, where the stench of blood and puss is rank, and Mulan wants to hold her nose, not because she is squeamish, but to quell the sadness. The sadness was everywhere. She could feel it like a casting shadow.

"Wait." Mama suddenly stops, before they enter the door way. They hear the Yi Healer and Shang arguing.

"Come away," she whispers.

But Mulan shakes her head and motions for them to stand in secret.

"Mulan," Mama mouths silently.

"Wait," she whispers. "We should _know_."

Mama gives a stern look. But they stand still, and crane their heads.

"I ought to bring him to the Imperial City, where the Emperor's own personal physicians can…"

"No, he'd never survive the journey. His body is working too hard to fight off the festering."

"But how long can he go on like this, it's too much!" Shang yells, frustration getting the best of him. "Something else _must_ be done."

"My boy, I will…" Yi begins.

"I'm _not_ a boy, I am a captain of the Emperor's Imperial army, second infantry. And my father is the great General Li."

There's a heavy sigh. "There is one procedure left I am considering. If he does not improve today, then I'll begin tonight. It's risky, but I do agree something must be done. His body cannot take this deterioration. He needs to drink or eat, or he'll just waste away."

There's silence. Mulan pictures Shang's face — probably motionlessly contemplating.

"He'd die on any journey. Believe me. Don't take him to the Imperial City." Mulan silently prays they'll stay. The healer was very experienced. But will a high ranking Captain listen to a village healer? She has a guess…

"Alright," Shang says quietly.

Immediately, Mulan has a simultaneous rush of feelings: triumph that her guess was right — he said yes, and also was impressed he'd do so. He listened.

"Okay," Mama whispers, and motions them forward. It's safe to enter now.

They bow and leave the tea. But before they can leave, the healer informs her mother they'd be needing supplies tonight. Buckets of water, bandages, baijiu (the liquored grain), and plenty of herbs Mama knew, but she couldn't name.

As Yi talks to her mother, she watches Shang sit next to the ill and broken man. And she wonders what he sees — his father or the General.

* * *

The Yi healer said he hoped it wouldn't come to this, but he was making a small incision around his father's wound. Hopefully, it would clear away some of the infection.

Fa Zhou led him out of the room when it was time. "This is no place for a son, go be useful and pray."

Well, he does pray. To all his ancestors, old and new, but mostly to his mother; may she guard his father's spirit. They didn't talk of her much, but he knew why his father never remarried. In a way, it kept her sacred, like the shade of the wind — never fully seen.

He doesn't pray in the Fa's family's ancestral temple. Instead, he lit a candle near their flowing pond. But like all parts of life, it fans out quicker than expected. Shang let it fall into the water once his prayers are finished. He hopes they didn't sound false to the ancestors. He always struggled with praying; not knowing quite what to say. He preferred the recitation prayers rather than going off-book.

It was almost certain his father stopped praying. The general once said, "Men shouldn't drag the dead onto the battlefield." It was odd to think of him dead alongside them. Suddenly, Shang's chin trembles and he quickly shakes his arms out, wanting to walk off this dreadful feeling.

He passes a lush cherry blossom tree, and stops to appreciate its loveliness. He hasn't seen one in over a year. They were always his favorite, if men are allowed to favor such a fruitless thing. He plucks a pedal, and it's smooth and fragrant. But the wind grabs it, and the flower lands in the water near the bridge.

The water, again.

Is that where he'd send his father off? Or would he bury him in this land, so far from home. They hadn't lived in a _real_ home for a while, so he guesses it doesn't matter.

His throat grows dry and hoarse, with stinging eyes, and he can't deny what's happening. The last time he cried, other than unconscious tears that fell in battle from shock at being alive, or the pain of training and your eyes water from agony, was when he was twelve years old. His father was just promoted to general. And he couldn't tote Shang to the military camps anymore —_"_I'll be leading them now, just like you will one day." He wept as his father departed, not knowing how long he'd get to stay with Li Wei, the high-ranking military official, before being shipped off to a boy's camp. He'd live there until he was old enough to join the army himself, which would be soon enough. "Don't cry, men don't cry," Li Wei quickly scolded.

There was never enough time in this world. Not for men like his father. Shang thinks he must be a fool to even have considered that after the war, there'd finally be time for the two of them. He feels weak of heart to have wished it in the first place.

Tears are both warm and cold on his face, as he turns from the blossom tree, and slowly walks until he reaches that wretched bridge.

For a short moment, the tears cease as he pictures Mulan drenched and angrily explaining her actions — as if he was the one hopping along a bridge's railing for no good reason. He almost had a stroke when he saw her, stirring him from what was supposed to be a peaceful stroll. He huffs a small laugh, unsure if he's amused by the absurdity, or it's just the mix of confusing emotions clouding his head.

For whatever reason, maybe for comfort or a distraction, he sits down in the middle of the bridge; feeling hidden. It's not very large, and he must crouch his legs, but at least he'll be out of the Fa family's way.

Shang stares at the dusky sky. It would be nightfall soon. Perhaps, this is the last night his father will breathe in this world.

He tries memorizing the heaviness of the clouds, the number of stars, so when the emperor's scribes ask questions about the great General's last night, he'll remember all the details for them to write down. But he feels too numb from crying to summon any poetic words. He's never been talented at that sort of thing, anyway. No, that was his father's expertise — storytelling. Soldiers always stopped and listened to any story the General offered, and Shang remembers like a bolt of lightening the bedside tales he had as a child. His throat tightens.

It seems dusky blue all around him, like the setting-sky bled into the ground. He gazes across the bridge, and jumps alert when a shadow emerges at the edging.

But it's only Mulan.

He's not even _surprised_ to see her. Of course this loon came back to skip more stones. Resignedly, he accepts her presence and continues his pitiful sitting, too weary hearted to get up.

Mulan looks painfully guilty, like she'd rather fall right back in the water. But instead of slinking past him, she leans against the railing. Now that she's apparently staying, he looks away, hiding his face. Ever the pragmatist, he doesn't want to reveal his shame.

"I hated watching him go." Her voice is quiet.

His neck slightly inclines to listen.

"When my father's name was called for conscription notice, it was like watching him march towards death," she continues. "It's supposed to be an honorable moment, accepting responsibility on behalf of China. All the villagers watched him with respect... even after I dishonored him by trying to tell the Emperor's counsel he already served…"

"You did?" He automatically perks up at this detail of the story. "What'd they say?"

"That my father would do well to teach his daughter to hold her tongue in a man's presence…" She watches him cautiously as she did that very thing again.

"Hm." He fully turns toward her, hoping it's too dark to catch his red eyes. He's seen most of the Emperor's counsel, and curiosity unhinges itself. "What did he look like? The counselor..."

"Skinny, with a stringy mustache," she muses, and then settles on a sardonic tone. "_Shrill_."

Shang scoffs, without humor. "I know of the man."

She tilts her head in interest.

"You wouldn't care to know him, either." The Emperor's advisor was worse than a snake. Cowardly and seething at the same time. He wasn't surprised to hear how he'd spoken to Mulan, but it didn't make him care for the man any more than he already did.

Then, he nods for her to continue the story.

Mulan seems more at ease with the gesture. "But _I_ saw no honor it though, just my father being taken away. That life was over for my family. We all imagined he'd die in battle, maybe even in training. I thought I'd never be happy again."

Shang's mouth hangs open at this speech. Such bold words. But he immediately relates to them, and feels a little better. A little less ridiculous for crying.

"But he lives because fate intertwined with your father. He wouldn't be here without the General." Mulan holds her hands earnestly.

Shang pauses, and weighs that acknowledgment. It's true in a sense — Fa Zhou would never have survived as an infantryman. His battered leg could only carry him so far. He feels a gush of pride over his father's kindness.

"The ancestors guarded my father, but maybe... they're taking yours, instead…" she whispers. "And I'm sorry if that's the truth. I wish I could do something to change it."

His eyebrows raise in bewilderment. Truly, he's never heard such honest sentiments. Remorseful and raw all at once. What could she even do to change it? Why even wish that? But somehow, he believes her when she says it.

And also, he wonders if it _was_ true? Did Fa Zhou live, only so his Father could die? Their fates intertwined? It's a buzz of thought; easy to swat away like a pestering beetle. He'd never hold it against the Fa family. He looks over Mulan. She probably needs her father more than he does. She's a young woman, unmarried, with only two women to care for her. He's a grown man with a sleeve of army titles. He can go anywhere.

Yet, how odd it is to feel a deep stab of envy at her luck. The way of the afterworld is not something the living can understand. But still, she'll keep her father for many more years. He's rarely encountered jealousy — it's not often his nature. Competitiveness, sure. But he's certainly never been jealous of a woman... until now.

_She's a lucky one_, he realizes. Not many people are chosen by luck. But, somehow, it makes sense that she would be. Maybe it could explain how life seems to move around her, instead of the reverse.

"And I'm sorry for what happened," Mulan continues.

Shang cocks his head.

"You know." She motions around them. "On the bridge."

He wonders how he should apologize for his actions — for making her slip, or more importantly for alluding to tell her father. He should never have said that, because it was her own business (even if it was curiously uncommon business). But she was right — he's not the boss of her.

"…When I provoked you?" she says deliberately when he doesn't answer, like he's slow of hearing.

"I'm sorry, too." He doesn't know if he should elaborate. Would it sound ridiculous? But she seems to understand. Her face clear in the moonlight. Her inked-smudged eyes. Shang almost forgot he's sitting on a bridge trying to wait-out the night. His head is less fuzzy, his heart less heavy.

"The healer was finishing when I left," Mulan says gently. "Do you wish to return inside?"

And he nods, somehow feeling ready even if fate was uncertain.


End file.
